A Strange Arrangement of Flowers
by sadiebelle4
Summary: On the dusty table top lies a strange arrangement of flowers, wilted softly in their short crystal vase. Upon seeing it, the old man laughs softly at the symbolism that never seemed to leave them… after all these years.   POV old Peeta


On the dusty table top lies a strange arrangement of flowers, wilted softly in their short crystal vase. Upon seeing it, the man laughs softly at the symbolism that never seemed to leave them… after all these years.

He gathered them yesterday or perhaps the day before that… he had trouble remembering. The process had been slow, with his trick leg and advanced age, walking was more difficult for him now than it was as a young man. Regardless, he made the journey…

A few of the sweet, pale petals of the morning primrose fall gently to the earth as he reaches down to pluck it from the bush near her old house. In quiet remembrance, he places the flower carefully in his wrinkled hand.

Wind picks up his scarf as he walks and he raises his hand to adjust it, accidentally sending the primrose fluttering into the breeze—young, innocent, and now lost in the sky.

Finally approaching the Meadow, he spots to his right a cluster of weeds, no—dandelions. Remembering vividly a conversation held long ago, he kneels to gather them.

"_Katniss, wait."_

"_Wait for what? We're going to be late. Do you truly want to be late for your own wedding?"_

_He smiles, "No, of course not." He leans his head to whisper in her ear, "However, don't you think it rather scandalous for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony?"_

_She gasps and covers her mouth in mock surprise, "Why, you're absolutely right… but then again, we never were a normal couple anyway."_

_He contains his laughter and tries once more to redirect the conversation._

"_Very true, but I do have to ask… Why me?"_

_She rolls her eyes and glares, "Peeta, we've been through this. I love you," she takes his hand, "this, this is real."_

"_Yes, but—"_

_She stops him, "When we were young and my father had only recently died, I came to your house. Remember?"_

"_Of course, the bread."_

"_Yes, the bread. I need you to understand, that bread saved me from death. With it, I could live another day."_

_He nods and she continues, "But after school the next day, I wanted to thank you, but I didn't have the strength to do so. When I saw you outside, I strongly considered walking up to you, then you looked at me and I couldn't. And as I turned away from you, I saw it."_

"_What?" _

"_The dandelions."_

"_The d-… what?"_

"_Dandelions. You know: yellow, weeds, kind of hard to get rid of?"_

"_Yes, I know what dandelions are, but what was so important about them?"_

"_Exactly. That's what I thought, until I realized that the plant itself could feed my family for weeks, months even. With them, we could survive."_

_She looked up at him and saw confusion in his eyes. Putting her hands to her head in gentle frustration, she continued once more, struggling to find the words._

"_So, imagine me: lost, hungry, and without a father. Not easy for a young girl, right? Right. After having received the bread, I was grateful, but I knew that it would only last so long, and then I found the dandelions. They gave me hope for survival against all of the odds." _

"_I'm sorry, I'm not following. So the—"_

"_Ugh! Peeta, don't you see? The dandelion is you! You are my hope in this world. Hope for survival and rebirth."_

"_So I'm a weed?" he teases gently._

"_You're missing the point," she remarks. "I don't even know why I bother, maybe you'll understand it someday," she says shaking her head in tender laughter as she grabs him by the hand and leads him through the door._

She was right; he did understand it, later. What he meant to her, for he had long known what she meant to him. He remembers on that day picking the yellow weed and placing it in the lapel of his suit. He remembers the look of the disapproving grin on her face when she saw it. He remembers the feeling of prideful accomplishment that he always felt when he made her smirk like that. And now, as he places the dandelions in his hand, he is hurt that she is no longer there to share in the memories. That little half smile remains solely in his mind, which is, truly, fading fast.

Wiping his tears, he rises and continues through the grasses of the Meadow and into the forest, her forest. He walks for a long time, taking frequent breaks leaning against trees and sitting on rocks, collecting his breath. The mud now sticking to his shoes alerts him that he has now reached his destination. He rolls up the legs of his pants and kneels by the waterside.

His breathing is labored as he painfully recalls the times they spent here: at first as reluctant acquaintances, then as newlyweds, and then as parents. But now, as he looks around, he sees that she is still here. It's as if she never truly left him. He can still hear her ringing laughter as she splashes him with the dark water. He can still see her sprinting towards her bow and then dangling the newly killed rabbit above him as she says with satisfaction, "Dinner." He can still smell her, the scent of fresh pine and the faintest hint of earth on her skin as he held her at night.

After searching for what seemed to him like hours, he finally finds what he is looking for: katniss. Gathering the entire root, he takes it with him in his hand, keeping it close to the dandelion. He stands, unrolls his pant legs, and gently stretches, preparing for the trip back. Once home, he places the plants in a vase filled partially with water, keeping the last petal of the primrose near.

As he gazes at the arrangement, dust begins to gather on the table. He grows too weak to make another journey, to replenish the harvest of plants for the setting. The flowers wilt, now only faded memories.


End file.
